


A Matter of Education

by hopelesslybenaddicted



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: M/M, Mild S&M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelesslybenaddicted/pseuds/hopelesslybenaddicted
Summary: In which Philippe has a particular request to make of Fabien. And in which the latter accepts.





	A Matter of Education

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Une question d'éducation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327729) by [LunaQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaQueen/pseuds/LunaQueen). 



The sun was setting over Versailles, flooding the immense lake with orange and red reflections, spreading its last warm rays across the windows of the castle. It had been a lovely day; nice, calm, punctuated with the twittering of ladies and the smiles of gentlemen. The king had offered far more glances than necessary to certain young women hidden behind their fans, and Chevalier had spent his day flitting all over, searching in vain for Monsieur. Fabien Marchal had observed all this from afar, in the corner of the room, lost in the shadows, while the light reflected across the pale faces of the assembled courtiers. After, he had retired to his apartments, His Majesty having requested that he interrogate several suspects in the dark affair of the poisons. The afternoon had only gotten better. He had spent three hours in an attempt to extract a name from his unfortunate victim, who had eventually left in quite a pitiful state. At least he was alive. Others hadn’t been so lucky. Rare were those who could boast of surviving one of Fabien’s interrogation sessions entirely in one piece. Most left in the back of a cart, heading for the morgue.

A thin smile tugged at his lips at this thought as he cleaned his equipment. He wore trousers under his chausses, as well as a plain white chemise, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair fell carelessly in front of his eyes as the last glimmers of dusk lit his workspace, on which lay all sorts of weapons and tools used in his daily work. However, he attempted to find a neutral expression when he heard footsteps creaking across the floor. The king was coming in search of news. He waited a moment as the - surprisingly slow - steps approached, until he calculated that the king was standing at the entry to his torture room.

“There is no need for concern, Sire. The man is unharmed. I… educated him, as you asked me to.”

There was a silence, which Fabien found strange, and he furrowed his brows. This was not the king. As soon as he realised, he grabbed the first thing he could lay his hands on: a large pair of scissors, which he pointed in the direction of the intruder as he spun quickly toward the door.

“So this is where my brother sends traitors to be… educated.”

Monsieur le Duc d’Orléans stood before him, his eyes wandering around the room, from the table covered with instruments of torture to the chains suspended from the ceiling, on which his eyes lingered for some time.

“And where he obliges you to live, at the same time.”

His gaze met Fabien’s, who finally lowered his arm, but he maintained his grasp on the scissors. Fabien was so stupefied to find His Highness here that he had forgotten to greet him, which Philippe ignored superbly. Philippe dragged his expensive shoes across the dusty floor and brushed the tips of his fingers across the different mallets and sharp instruments. He seemed fascinated. Intrigued. Curious. Fabien's surprise brought an amused smile to his lips.

“How many people have died here?” Philippe asked, pulling Fabien from his thoughts.

“Many, Your Highness.”

“Do you take pleasure in killing?”

“None.”

“And in torturing?” His gaze again fell on Fabien's, who shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uneasy.

“It is my work, Monsieur.”

“That’s not an answer to the question.” A playful smile emerged on the royal features.

Fabien took a deep breath. "Yes," he admitted.

The Duc’s smile widened; he seemed satisfied. Thrilled. He lifted his eyes to the chains, and took hold of the cuffs, which he brought in front of his eyes before putting them around his wrists, closing them with a dry click, before Fabien could make the slightest movement. What was he doing? He was standing now, his arms raised above his head, his hands clasped in the iron bracelets. Philippe showed no sign of distress. On the contrary, he seemed to have made a fascinating discovery, like a new species or planet.

Fabien leaned against the work bench behind him, perplexed.

“Have you ever educated someone just for the pleasure of it?”

“Never.”

His Highness nodded, pensive, considering Fabien’s response.

“Would you, if you had the chance?”

“I don’t understand, Monsieur.” The sun had set now, and the first pale glimmers of night came flooding into the cold room, reflecting off the dark curls of the king’s brother, flooding his milky skin with a lunar brightness that was almost surreal.

“Don’t try to play the idiot, Monsieur Marchal. That may work with my brother, but not with me.”

Fabien startled, leaning harder into the edge of the work bench.

“I would like for you to educate me.”

Fabien had never seen this look on Philippe’s face, not even for his Chevalier. He was hot, a fine layer of sweat proud across his forehead. What was happening? What was he agreeing to if he said yes? Did he want to say yes? Should he say no? Who would find out? Nothing would escape these walls, in any case.

“I cannot do that, Your Highness,” Fabien declared, his chin lowered.

“You cannot, or you do not want to?”

What did he want? It had been years since he had thought of what he really wanted.

“I cannot,” he repeated.

“Then do it." Philippe lowered his eyes for a moment, biting his lip in an exaggerated expression of innocence, then brought his gaze back to meet Fabien's. "Fabien. Do it."

Fabien's blood ran hot through his veins, boiling inside his body like molten lava. His lips became dry, and his trousers too tight.

“Fabien.”

He closed his eyes. He was so close to giving in. To throwing himself upon Philippe. To punishing him.

“Fabien.”

Punishing him for tempting him this way. Punishing him for coming and turning everything upside-down. Punishing him for awakening these feelings that had been dormant for so long.

“Teach me.”

Punishing him.

“Fabien.”

His eyes flew open, his pupils dilated, and in three steps, he was before the Duc. Between his fingers, which he wrapped around Philippe’s delicate neck, he could feel a panicked pulse. He squeezed, pressing into the precious skin, and pressed their bodies together, pushing his erection against Philippe’s thigh.

“You deserve a little education, Your Highness. Know that one cannot ask this kind of thing without submitting to the consequences.”

The Duc nodded imperceptibly.

“You need some punishment, Philippe.”

Fabien crushed his lips against those of the king’s brother. The night promised to be exciting. Even better than the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to LunaQueen who graciously agreed to allow me to post my translation of her work! She says there may be a sequel in the works, so if you'd like to encourage her, head over to the original fic and leave a comment!


End file.
